


Keep Up

by Emono



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Smut, Some Humor, Travel Channel/Anthony Bourdain AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-19 23:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: Anthony Bourdain AU - Joe is a chef and the host of a food travel show and Web is his freshly hired publicist who tries to keep him in line. The idiots fall in love.





	1. Chapter 1

Contrary to popular belief, Web didn’t sleep his way into his position. He had an impressive resume, a degree from Harvard, and multiple other publicist jobs under his belt, along with glowing reviews from his former clients. He’d written half a dozen fiction books that had done pretty okay, worked behind the scenes on two different ocean life conservation documentaries, and was charming enough to have good relationships with a long list of media outlets. He was good with people (when he needed to be) and had managed to hide all the flaws of his personality while on the clock.

 

Web applied to the Travel Channel hoping to see some of the world and that’s just what he got when he received the offer for a show called _Parts Unknown_. The premise was that someone would explore lesser known places, their culture,cuisine, and even their political climate laid bare for the viewers. The contract was for a publicist position for the host - a chef, author, and a common face around Food Network.

 

Joseph Liebgott.

 

“Oh yeah,” Web had murmured to himself as he’d looked up the man on his phone. He’d seen Liebgott before. He was known to be kind of an asshole but Web would have to call around to find out more. Traveling the world with a hot guy and getting paid a high five figure salary? That sounded pretty alright.

 

o0o

 

Getting paid a high five figure salary to babysit a fucking asshole was _not_ worth it. It turned out that Liebgott had already chased off four publicists and was mouthy as all hell.

 

“He did _what_ to his last publicist?” Web asked in disbelief as he stared at the man at the bar who would soon be his boss if the interview went well. Liebgott was well built for sure but was it worth it? The man was watching football on TV and wearing a flat cap for Christ’s sake, he looked harmless enough. Skip Muck, the regular cameraman, smirked around his cigarette. His sound man, Don Malarkey, shared a grin with his friend.

 

“Slashed his tires, flushed his keys, and told him to suck a fat cock in hell,” Skip repeated gleefully. “The guy was sort of okay at his job, I guess.”

 

“Lieb needs a certain touch,” Don added. “Maybe you’ve got it, pretty boy.”

 

o0o

 

Turns out he did.

 

“Never seen eyes that blue before,” Liebgott commented offhandedly between interview questions. It was enough to throw Web off guard and he made an ugly, choked noise as he was torn between a disbelieving snort and a hysteric giggle.  Liebgott glanced at him briefly but continued to flip through his resume, marking it with a red pen that he’d pulled out of his messenger bag.  “You travel a lot, Webster?”

 

“Not really,” he managed to get out, trying not to stare at the sinful curve of the man’s lip as it caught between his teeth. “Just some light romping through Europe. Nothing in-depth.”

 

“Pity,” Liebgott tisked. “All these books you’ve written and you’ve never been out of the states for more than, what, London and Paris?”

 

“London and Amsterdam,” Web corrected sheepishly.

 

In one smooth move Liebgott chucked the resume behind him and kicked his booted feet up on the glass table between them. “Fuck it. Why not? You’re hired.”

 

“Are...are you serious?” Web gaped dumbly at the chef. “Just like that?”

 

“It’s my choice, ain’t it? First order of business - I’m gonna’ need some whiskey. Strong and dark.” He shook his boot at him. “Get a glass for you too. We fly out to Thailand first thing tomorrow.”

 

Shock hit him right in the gut. “Thailand?”

 

“Pack your booty shorts, Harvard.” The man’s teeth flashed in a sharp smile that sent a bolt of heat straight to Web’s cock. “Welcome to the show.”

 

o0o0o0o

 

They were hitting Thailand in their dry season. The little place they were eating at with their travel guide in-show was a long, bumpy ride and a rough terrain hike. Liebgott loved the challenge and his small crew was used to the weather after the two month trek they’d done in Thailand for a previous show.

 

But Web? Web was basically dying.

 

He was dehydrated due to his own poor planning. He’d been sweating since they landed in the country and the bugs had taken to his skin like honey. He’d been so spoiled on years of access to running water and feather beds that his body was rebelling against him in every way. Web considered himself outdoorsy - he took hikes, bike rides, he dabbled in rock wall climbing and had tried parkour for like a month.

 

But Thailand was kicking his ass. The humidity was choking him and the jetlag was finishing the job. He’d developed a splitting migraine and was somewhere between asleep on his feet and in a zombified state of insomnia. He couldn’t sleep. His anxiety was at an all time high as he fumbled through one task after another. It was his first week on the job, the ink was still drying on the contract, and he honestly wasn’t sure he could do it.

 

Liebgott was _wild_. He drank too much, he wandered off, and it was Web’s cursed job to wrangle him. As Liebgott himself had put it - he was being paid _very_ well to keep his temper off and his charm on. Web was the conduit between Liebgott and everyone else. His job was to keep things smooth. Web added another unspoken aspect to his new job: He needed to keep Liebgott _safe_. But how the hell was he supposed to do that when the man was determined to shove dangerous food into his face?

 

A little drunk while they sat at the road side restaurant and filmed, Liebgott waved off all explanation and warning as their food was laid on the table. “No! Don’t tell me. I’m trying this right now and I don’t want to hesitate. Jesus, it smells like iron. God, look at this.” He spooned a through a bowl of soup to show it off to the camera. Beside the film crew, Web was turning green just looking at it. The soup was chunky and the color of old blood. “It’s like eating out of an open wound.”

 

Liebgott took a huge bite and moaned, slapping the table. A red slash stained his mouth and chin. “That’s good. That’s way better than it looks. I give. What is it?”

 

“It’s raw blood soup call Luu,” the guide explained.

 

His mouth dropped, teeth cherry red. “Like, they cook it? They dump it in with hot soup?”

 

“No, it’s completely raw. They scrunch it with lemongrass for a long time to kill the gamey taste and help coagulation. They add a raw minced meat and deep fried innards.”

 

“I love it,” Liebgott declared, laughing as he thumb the blood off his mouth and sucked it clean. “That’s so good. It’s sort of sweet and rich. I could eat a bucket of this.”

 

“I mean, anything deep fried-”

 

“Right?! Exactly. Sign me up.”

 

“It was worth dying over.”

 

Liebgott paused on his second bite. “Say what?”

 

“Well, two years ago a family of seven died from a bad batch of blood. There were parasites infecting the pig but it didn’t show any signs. They had no idea until it was too late.”

 

The color drained out of Web’s face as he thought of all the ways that horrific ‘soup’ could be killing his new boss in front of him. His stomach was empty but it started to cramp. His mouth flushed with bile.

 

“I wish you’d told me that before.” Liebgott stared down at the bowl but then shrugged. “Screw it. Let’s die like heroes.”

 

They clacked bowls and dug in, both laughing and buzzed from the homemade liquor. Liebgott devoured a huge bite and shot a wicked grin at the camera to show off scarlet teeth. Don pulled a face but Skip was grinning behind the camera, giving him a thumbs up. Liebgott stuck out his bloody tongue with a peace sign and delighted in the way Web whipped to the side and straight up hurled. He cackled madly as Web choked and heaved, nearly bent double as he shook.

  
The guy politely covered his smile and when he’d gathered his manners he gave Liebgott a proper glare. “That’s cruel.”

 

“What a pussy,” Liebgott snickered as his publicist started making dry, rasping noises as his stomach turned itself out. “It’s not Thailand without a little blood soup, right guys?”

 

“You’re such a dick,” Malarkey grumbled as he turned his boom away from his new friend’s retching noises. “Web, could you, uh...throw up a little further away?”

 

o0o

 

The air cooled as the night settled in. They had gone back to the motel when they realized Web was getting sicker on the road. He was sharing a two-bed room with his boss and he’d fussed about it at first. But when Web woke up from his nap with a cool cloth on his forehead and with water and a bowl of fruit beside him, he was grateful.

 

Liebgott was typing away at his computer and lazily sucking drags off the cigarette between his lips. Web grunted and tried to sit up, to ask him how long he’d been out, but his stomach was painfully hollow and he had to lay back down. Liebgott tapped his smoke out in the ashtray beside him before pushing everything aside and getting up.

 

“Hey,” his boss greeted him as he passed between their beds to sit beside him. He snagged a thermometer off the nightstand before popping it between his lips. “Stay still.”

 

Web frowned around the device but obeyed.

 

“Sorry about earlier,” Liebgott tisked, carding back his bangs back only to have them flop back into place. “It was funny for about a minute but I didn’t think you’d be passing out on us all day. You really don’t travel well, do you?”

 

The thermometer beeped and Liebgott plucked it out. “Good. It’s normal.”

 

“Sorry,” Web croaked. His throat felt caked in old stomach acid. “I’ll get used to it.” His grin was weak but at least he was trying. “Guess I was in New York too long.”

 

“It was a long flight,” Liebgott conceded.

 

“I’ll get better,” Web insisted.

 

Liebgott raked his eyes over the man laid out before him. Web’s too-blue eyes were full of determination and his impressive jaw looked carved in steel. But he was still blanched from heat and thirst.

 

“You sure you want to do this?” Liebgott pressed. “I’m not going to torture you. And there’s a lot worse places we’re going than this.”

 

Web frowned and a flurry of protests started to build on his tongue.

 

“You know what?” Liebgott relented, patting his publicist’s cheek. “You tell me at the end of this trip and then we’ll talk. You need to get something in you and actually sleep off this jetlag.”

 

Web closed his mouth and stared in awe at his boss. He’d expected more jabs or to be outright fired for ruining some of their filming. He was paid to be behind the scenes and that meant keeping his mouth shut. This tenderness, the thoughtfulness out of such a gruff man...it touched him.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Drink some water, for fuck’s sake, you sound like you’ve been sucking cock all night,” Liebgott griped as he grabbed the bottle and shoved it in his hand. “This ain’t _that_ kind of trip, Webster.”

 

o0o

 

Two weeks later they were filming at a local family’s home to be shown some homemade rice hooch. The father insisted the first glass was like gasoline but it got smoother as you drank.

 

“Oh yeah,” Liebgott toasted his empty glass at the camera, a new husk in his voice. “Straight fire. Real smooth.”

 

Off to the side away from Skip’s lens, Web put his fist to his mouth to stifle his chuckle. Liebgott shot him a wink as the generous patriarch poured him another shot. Web had developed a lovely tan in the Taiwanese sun. He’d gone from pink to bronze and it agreed with him. He was in thick sunglasses and his thinnest shirt, a pair of jeans he’d brought now cut off above the knee. The wind was in his wild, dark curls and the script was rolled up in his hand as he watched.

 

Liebgott couldn’t help but admire the handsome figure his publicist struck. Web had sat before him that first day as a pretty boy, polished and untested. But just a few weeks with him and the man was tapering, loosening up the bootstraps and letting his hair down so to speak. He’d let his beard grow out and he was in flip flops for fuck’s sake.

 

Web wasn’t the heat-sick city boy anymore. He was adaptive, malleable in the best way, and looked like he belonged behind the camera.

 

Right where Liebgott could admire him.

 

o0o0o0o

 

“Ah, shit fuck, this is some good fucking Pho. Which of you motherfuckers made this?” Joe demanded with one too many beers in his system. “Fess up. I want the asshole who made this to step up right now because I’m gonna’ shake your hand and put you in my suitcase. Who wants a free ride to the states?”

 

“Joe,” Web sighed as he scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “Joe, you can say, like, _two_ of those words on camera. You can’t say all of them.”

 

“Bull. Shit.”

 

Web groaned and Skip snickered. “You did say two, Web.”

 

“That I did.”

 

o0o

 

“What the _fuck_ happened!” Don bellowed as he came back to their motel room to find Skip patching up Liebgott and Web. Both were sporting bloody lips and their eyes were puffy like they were debating on swelling shut.

 

“We met up with the tour guide to do paperwork and he called us faggots,” Liebgott stated simply.

 

“In that same vein, we’re going to need another guide,” Web added casually. “So who wants to call Vera and tell her?”

 

“So just _what_ were you doing to get this guys to call you a faggot?” Don accused. “Please don’t tell me you were playing grab-ass with the locals, Lieb.”

 

“I guess we just look like we suck cock, Mal!” Liebgott barked. “So call Vera and get a new fucking follow so we can film!”

 

Don threw up his hands and left with a whirl of curse words.

 

o0o

 

The steady, wet smack of flesh on flesh was the only sound in the room besides Web’s content little punched out moans. He’d be embarrassed by how needy he sounded but he knew he’d never see the man again after tonight so it didn’t matter. The guy’s name was _Leo_ of all things but they were filming in Scotland and this guy was down to fuck in the way Web needed and he didn’t have his real name so why not enjoy it? Leo was just some guy at the local bar and if he had swooping dark hair and red, full lips and soulful dark eyes then so be it.

 

Web wasn’t thinking about how Leo looked like a slimmer version of Lieb. He was trying not to think of anything at all.

 

Web thrived on sex that rode that fine edge of almost too rough. He craved to give up control to someone who could handle it. During the day he was a constant ball of taut energy as he ran (sometimes literally) after Liebgott to make sure his boss didn’t get into anything he couldn’t cover up. He had to make sure Liebgott had what he needed to keep the show going, not to mention his _life_. Groceries, toiletries, clean clothes - the man was useless most of the time when it came to taking care of himself. Web wasn’t only his publicist but his caretaker and he had to make sure to keep an iron clad grip on his control all the fucking time. Liebgott rubbed people the wrong way and Web had to be there to step in, smooth the waters and ease the way so filming could go on. There was a timeline to keep and Web’s job was to get his boss from Point A to Point B with no interruptions.

 

That required a lot of holding back, a lot of forced smiles and tight fists.

 

So when Web found the time to wrangle someone into bed, he wanted to let everything loose. He wanted to be controlled, _dominated_ , because sex was about letting go. Sex was mindless, primal, oh so easy to get lost in. It was just two bodies writhing together to find physical release in an age-old rhythm.

 

And if he was thinking about a certain coif of soft hair and a particular filthy mouth while he was getting fucked face down, then that was his business.

 

Leo’s teeth sink into his shoulder and Web heard something hiss out from between his teeth that suspiciously sounded like _Lieb_ but his mind blanked out. “Fuck yes.”

 

Web braced his knees in the bed and moaned into his hotel shees as the pain shot through him straight to his dick. Leo sat back and grabbed him by the shoulder to get leverage, his palm digging deliciously into the fresh bite. He started yanking Web back onto his cock on each upthrust and his cockhead was nailing his prostate right on. Talented little fuck.

 

Fleshy slaps and perfect, mindless pleasure. Just what Web needed.

 

Then the room erupted in a cheery chorus of _Barbie Girl_. Web growled in annoyance at both Lieb for changing his ring tone again and that someone was calling him so late at night. Web pushed himself up on his palms with a frustrated grunt and started fucking himself harder back on the mostly-satisfying dick. But it kept going, kept ringing, and _finally_ he cocked his head and looked at the screen.

 

_Carwood._

 

Carwood was his high end network contact that hooked him up with all the sealife preservation units and documentary work. He’d been waiting on this phone call for months.

 

“Oh shit! Red!” Web bellowed, pushing up onto his knees and elbowing Leo back. “ _Red_ , asshole, get off me.” Leo grunted in confusion but he didn’t have time to soothe his fragile little ego. He shoved Leo so hard the man tumbled backward off the bed with a startled yelp.

 

Web snatched his phone off the side table and answered it with a beaming smile and a cheery voice. “Hey, Carwood! It’s so good to hear from you. How’s Ron? Still horrifically scary? Good, good, send him my love. So what’s up? Oh wait, one second.”  


  
Web covered the receiver and glared at Leo, who was standing at the end of the bed fuming. “I’m sorry, pumpkin, do I need to pay you or something?”  
  
  
  
“What the fuck?” Leo sneered. “You’re just kicking me out?”

 

“I thought that was obvious,” Web snarked before he flapped his hand impatiently at the door. “Yes! _Out_. Fuck off already.”

 

He rolled his eyes when Leo slammed the door on his way out but the botched one night stand was quickly forgotten.

 

‘ _We got the documentary,_ ’ Carwood informed him, politely ignoring the argument. ‘ _Sea Shepherd said they were more than happy to work with the budget Discovery and the network gave us. Both sides have signed off._ ’

 

“You are fucking kidding me?” Web breathed into the phone. “They...they greenlighted the whole thing?”

 

_‘Yeah, boy, they’re excited.’_

 

Web quickly put his friend on speaker before switching to his messenger and shooting out a text to Lieb. **Joe - you up?**

 

 _‘They want to get started immediately.’_ Carwood’s voice was a little tinny as it echoed in the room but it was the best thing Web had ever heard. _‘Apparently charity is fashionable this season. The network agreed to air it and put a donation link up on the front page. The whole nine yards. You can even pick your crew.’_

 

 _Ping_ . **Yep**

 

_‘How soon can you get out here to start the paperwork?’_

 

His thumbs flew over the keyboard. **U in ur room?**

 

“Whenever Sea Shepherd wants to start, we’re ready.”

 

 _Ping_. **Yea**

 

‘ _That’s great to hear. Let’s talk details tomorrow. I just thought you’d want ot know it’s finally going through._ ’

 

“Thanks, Lip, we owe you one.”

 

‘ _This was my pleasure, trust me. Talk to you tomorrow._ ’

 

Web barely had the sense of decency to throw on a pair of black sweats before he was running out the door. He was damn lucky his keycard was still in the pocket of them. He sprinted down the hall in his bare feet and practically threw himself at one of the doors.

 

“Lieb!” Web shouted as he banged his fists on the wood. “Liebgott, open this goddamn door!”

 

The door flew open and an unshaved, half-dressed, very perturbed Liebgott opened the door. “What the fucking fuck, Webster? They’re gonna call the cops!”

 

“I just got the best phone call!” Web declared as he shoved his boss into the room and slammed the door. He was trying to think of the best way to present it, maybe make Lieb beg, but he was bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. “The Faroe Island project is a goddamn _go_!”

 

Lieb’s jaw fell open and he looked like a slapped fish. It was exquisite. “What?”

 

“I just go the call from my contact, he’s been keeping a finger on the pulse of it for me, and the network finally approved it,” Web gushed. “Equipment, crew, funds, it’s all ours. We have a meeting at the end of the week.”  


  
“Holy shit.” Lieb’s eyes went comically wide before he broke into a toothy grin. “Holy _shit_ , Web!”

 

Web refused to admit he squealed when Lieb surged forward and picked him right up off his feet. He clung to his boss and smiled just as wide as he was spun in dizzying circles. They cursed and laughed together, bare skin pressed and sharing each other’s warmth and mirth as the moment settled in.

 

“Holy shit, holy fuck, holy _fuck_!”

 

“I know! Shit, I didn’t think it was happening.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me it actually had a shot?” Lieb demanded, shaking him a little mid air to get another happy cackle out of his publicist.

 

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed if nothing happened!” Web tried to ignore the tingle he got from his palms skidding over the thick, bare muscle of his boss’s back. “Come on, put me down already, you big lug.”

 

Lieb gave him one last defiant spin before putting him back on his feet. “Shit, this is great. This - what the fuck is that?”

 

Web frowned uncertainly until Lieb’s fingers skimmed over the obvious bitemark on his shoulder. He blushed from ears to throat as he realized how marked up he was, how _obvious_.  He winced at the pressure and took a step back. “Oh, yeah...that’s nothing.”

 

“Don’t look like nothin’,” Lieb drawled thickly and he swore he saw a flash of anger in his dark eyes. “Christ, Web, you let some asshole do this to you?” _Some asshole who doesn’t give a fuck about you like I do?_

 

“It’s fine,” he lied. He wished he’d put on a shirt.

 

“Did you at least scratch him up?”

 

 _Him_. Web had never been quiet about his bisexuality. He wondered briefly if his orientation was so obvious but then he realized the bite mark was on the wrong side of his shoulder to be done from the front.

 

“Well Lip called and I wanted to come tell you in person so-” Web cut himself off and his ears burned red hot. Lieb was laughing at him but there was a warmth in it that kept him from running out of the room in pure embarrassment.

  
“Web,” Lieb started out, still trying to choke down his chuckles. “Did you kick out your booty call mid-booty?” He burst into a snicker and covered his mouth. “You coulda’ waited!”

 

“Ack, he wasn’t that good of a lay anyways. _This_ is important,” Web insisted as he flipped open his boss’s suitcase. He dug out a plain shirt and tugged it over his head. “Let’s talk crewmen.”

 

Heads together and bent over a laptop as they sorted through the staff they’d worked with, Lieb couldn’t help but note how good Web looked in his shirt.


	2. Chapter 2

To Web’s credit, he didn’t sleep with Joe until six months after he already secured the job. And he was drunk. And it was in Paris. But it was just a sloppy exchange of blowjobs that he absolutely didn’t think about almost every time he jacked off. 

 

_ “Just come here a second, baby.” _

 

_ “You horny fuck.” _

 

_ “I can see what you’re packin’ there, Web. Let me take care of you.” _

 

_ “J-Joe…” _

 

_ “That’s it. Spread so pretty for me.” _

 

They didn’t talk much about Paris after that.

 

o0o0o0o

 

“Oh shit fucking _shit_. He’s here.”

 

Joe did a little nervous shuffle behind the kitchen door. He could see the entrance way of the dining room from the glass window and there he was. David-fucking-Webster at _his_ restaurant by _his_ personal invite. At first he’d wanted to keep his chef life separate from his travel life and that meant an unspoken ban on his snobby publicists from visiting his New York restaurant. But Web...Web was different. They’d become close friends for fucks sake, Paris notwithstanding. The man had wriggled into every part of his life. Web was damn good at his job but he went above and beyond. He took _care_ of Joe. Things had been going a thousand percent smoother with Web around, on and off the show.

 

Joe talked about his restaurant. He fielded calls about supply and staff and all sorts of stuff about it while they were out on the road together. Web listened (like _really_ listened) when he bitched about bad stock or some rude fucker throwing a fit in his restaurant while _he_ was halfway across the world and couldn’t throw him out himself. Joe griped about quality control and new items his head chef was trying to push. Hell, Web asked questions, threw out opinions, _engaged_. But never once did Web ask about coming.

 

And when Web wasn’t glued to his hip, Joe was at the restaurant so he _knew_ the fucker had never shown up. So in typical Liebgott style, he sent Web a fancy invite with a plus-three. The letters were fucking _raised_. He had to come.

 

And yet…

 

Joe hadn’t been unsure, he’d been _terrified_ Web wouldn’t come.  But there he was looking stunning and perfect with three of his friends. Web had cleaned up way too nice and it was making Joe sweat. He had shaved and the clean, long line of his jaw was on full display as he laughed with the maitre’d on his way to his table. Joe sucked his teeth as his eyes raked over the tight cut of Web’s vest, the cling of his dress shirt along his shoulders, and how good those stupidly hairy arms looked with the cuffs folded up to his elbows.  

 

He was painfully gorgeous and it was pissing Joe off just as much as it was making him nervous. This was it. This was his moment to impress Web and show he wasn’t just an asshole boss but maybe a-

 

_ Stop thinking about Paris.  _

 

Joe took off his hat and smoothed his hair before shoving it back on.

  
  
“For fuck’s sake, Lieb,” Hoosier bitched from the line. “Are you seriously this worked up over a one night stand?”

 

“It’s his publicist,” Grant corrected, smacking Alley’s hand when he reached for an extra helping of lobster bodies for the stock. “ _Hey_.”   
  


  
“It needs it!”

 

“It don’t need shit.”

 

“Same difference,” Hoosier snorted. “Publicist. One night stand. Same guy.”

 

“I am literally never telling any of you anything ever again,” Joe bitched before pushing away from the doors. “Okay, no one touch his fucking food. _Move_.”

 

o0o

 

Web loved the restaurant from the moment he stepped inside. It was like walking into someone’s elegant dining room - warm colors and different polished woods with a high arching ceiling that made the place open up. It was somehow cozy but had so much breathing room. It was comfortable, welcoming, and instantly he felt like he belonged. From how Carwood was smiling and Ron didn’t look completely put out, his friends felt the same way. 

 

“I expected something much more pretentious,” Carwood chuckled as he took the seat his boyfriend pulled out for him. He squeezed Ron’s hand when the man settled in next to him. Web admired their easy affection despite their opposite personalities. He never asked how long they’d been together but it looked like years layered between them. “From the way you talk about him, and seeing him on his previous show...I don’t know. I thought it would be flashy.”

 

“He’s pretty down to earth for an asshole,” Web assured. He was still rubbernecking when the server approached them to pour them out water that tasted like lime and mint. A bottle of wine was offered on the house.

 

“From Mr. Liebgott.”

 

“What do you think?” Carwood asked, passing the bottle to his boyfriend. Ron studied it, thumb tracing along the year on the label, before he gave it an approving nod. “Great. Thank him for us.”

 

Web’s mirth only faltered when he wasn’t given a menu. “Um, do we share or…?”

 

“Oh no!” the server corrected with a bright, genuine smile. “Your meal in particular has already been planned. I promise Mr. Liebgott has taken great care to make sure you get the best the establishment has to offer.”

 

Web barely managed not to bounce in his chair like an eager child. _Barely_. Carwood laughed at his eager expression but he couldn’t help it. His boss had planned the whole meal for him? Maybe it would’ve been seen as controlling or weird to some but he knew Lieb. He knew it meant that the man wanted everything to go perfectly and to properly showcase what his place was all about. 

 

Web perused the menu Ron had been given for fun and found it a strange but interesting mix. There were few classic dishes for the layman - steak and two delicious sounding burgers - but otherwise the cuisine leaned more toward modernized, remixed Jewish dishes with Cambodian influence. The two styles didn’t sound like they’d mesh at all but descriptions were mouth watering. 

 

“He said he found his purpose in Cambodia when he was in his twenties,” Web mused out loud, recalling the man’s monologuing after one too many shots of dark liquor. “He went soul searching and when he came back to the states he broke his mom’s heart when he told her he wanted to be a chef.” 

 

Carwood peered knowing over the line of his menu but didn’t say anything. 

 

Bowls and plates poured onto their table and every last one of them contained something stunning and delicious. Brisket that fell apart at a single touch came alongside red curry that left behind the kind of burn you wanted again and again. Web marveled at hybrid dishes like a mouth watering bowl of food somewhere between a _kuy teav_ and a matzoh ball soup. So many herbs he couldn’t name crossed and delighted his tongue and he must’ve knocked down four or five small bowls of pickled vegetables all by himself. 

 

The server brought something that looked like paste and Web turned up his nose. “No way. I’ve been to enough delis to know that’s chopped liver on a banana leaf.”

 

“Fish amok.”

 

It was one of the few things Ron had said all evening and the server looked pleasantly surprised.

 

Web raised a brow at him. “Bless you?”

 

“It’s a traditional Cambodian dish,” Ron continued, taking his small bowl and setting it beside his late along with the toasted bread bites it was to be spread on. “It’s sort of a fish mouse. He probably imported slok ngor to make it authentic as possible while still keeping in line with his roots.” He took a spoonful and spread it across the toast without looking at Web’s slack jawed expression. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression you’ve watched your boyfriend’s television show?”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Web bleated much too loudly. He quickly shut himself up with a spoonful of the amok and lit up at the savory taste and how silky it felt on his tongue. “Holy fuck.”

 

“Holy fuck indeed,” Ron deadpanned. 

 

Then came the dessert. It looked like a simple chocolate crumb cake with impeccably sharp layering but the small, decorative card that came with the silver tray that held all three slices told the truth. 

 

“Chocolate espresso cake,” Carwood read out loud, Ron’s eyes rounding out in barely suppressed joy as he stared down at his decadent piece. “Made in house with pudding, devil’s food, and handcrafted espresso cream.”

 

The moan Web let out when the cake touched his tongue was obscene. It was rich and not too sweet, soft, creamy, _perfection_. He couldn’t stop the noises the cake pulled out of him even if he’d tried. His friends gave him strange looks but they were enjoying their own portions.

 

“Is it rude if I lick the plate?”

 

“ _David_.”

 

o0o

 

Web hovered outside the doors to the kitchen and rubbed his full belly. He wanted to find a sunny spot somewhere and take a three day nap. He was truly satisfied in every way. The meal had been amazing. Though he knew his boss was busy he couldn’t just up and leave without saying something when his damn fingers were buzzing from how good he felt.

 

But when Joe burst out of the kitchen all flushed with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, ink on display, teeth showing in a grin that was all bravado and grandeur…

 

Web lost his words.

 

“Well?” Joe prompted, hands splayed out in anticipation. He shook them at the gawking man. “Earth to Webster? Come on, asshole, how was it?”

 

“Holy shit, Joe,” Web finally got out, busting into a grin. “It was insanely delicious.”

 

That grin turned into a full blown smile that crinkled his eyes and made them sparkle. “Really?”

 

“Hell yes,” Web swore. “I mean...wow, I’ve never had a meal like that. And that cake? _Fuck_ , I’ve never had espresso cream before but I need about a barrel of it to eat at home alone where people won’t giggle at me for moaning about it.”

 

Joe couldn’t help but laugh at the enthusiasm. It was more than he’d dared hope for. “You were getting off on it, huh?”

 

“Let’s just say the meal was so good that you’re going to have someone clean up the mess under my table.”

 

They both snickered at that. 

 

“So who should I thank?” Web insisted, peering pointedly through the window into the kitchen. “I want to shake the hand of whichever of your souf chefs was killing it tonight. And you of course.”

 

“Well, only me,” Joe clarified, a fresh wave of nerves hitting him. 

 

The pause was heavy. “What?”

 

Joe was starting to wrinkle his collar with his fiddling. “Yeah, I, uh...I made it myself.”

 

“Were you short-staffed tonight?” Web wondered. 

 

“No! Web, Christ,” Joe cursed, frustrating with all the dancing around. “I made your meal by hand. I didn’t let any of the guys touch your stuff. I wanted to do it.”

 

Web felt something tender bloom in his chest and he rubbed at the ache it left. “Jesus, Joe, you had to have been busy...this place is packed.”

 

His boss shrugged like he hadn’t ignored presiding over dozens of other tables just for him. “You liked it. That’s what matters.”

 

“It was amazing,” Web gushed earnestly. The evening suddenly meant too much and he was having trouble taking a full breath. 

 

Joe could sense the tension and tried to laugh but it came out nervous. “I’m not much of a pastry chef but I made that cake too. You know how hard it was not to just box it up and take it home myself?”

 

“Hard as fuck, I’m sure,” Web managed to choke out. He could feel his cheeks burning. “I-I’m probably keeping you…”

 

“It’s okay!” Joe insisted. He could hear how strained he sounded and wanted to sort of punch himself in the face. He took off his hat and wrung it between his hands. “So you really liked it? You’re not just bullshitting me.”

 

“It was amazing,” Web promised. He’d never seen his boss so nervous before and it made him protective. He moved himself between Joe and the open ended hallway that led to the dining room. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. This was something soft and special that he couldn't quite put a name to but he knew was just for him. “Once the show airs the wait list is going to be even more insane than this. I appreciate all of it.”

 

“You’re always welcome here,” Joe swore. “Seriously. Anytime.” 

 

Web’s gaze dropped down to the firm lower lip Joe had clamped between his teeth. He wondered not for the first or the hundredth time what it would be like to kiss his boss. Joe was off kilter, it wouldn’t be hard to muscle him against the wall and slot their mouths. It would be good. Too good. He took a purposeful step back to try and break the spell he was putting himself under. “I’ll let you go.”

 

“Yeah. Guys are probably buried by now,” Joe conceded, thumbing behind him toward the kitchen. But his heart wasn’t in it. He looked almost disappointed. “You, uh, gonna’ be in town much longer?”

 

“Well,” Web drew out, trailing off in a grin. “My boss is running me pretty hard. I have a hundred boring meetings to sit through. Interviews to schedule, reporters to sweet talk. He’s a handful. If he’d actually tag along to any of those meetings…”

  
  
Joe gave that smirk, that one he gave the camera after saying something particularly cheeky. His eyes crinkled up and he tongued his canine, like the cat who caught the canary. “Yeah, I hear his publicist told him to butt out because he just gets drunk and mouths off.”

 

“He’s a mouthy fuck,” Web cracked. “He’s lucky he’s hot.”

 

“You think that asshole’s hot?”

 

“Pretty fucking hot,” Web admitted with a tinge of embarrassment. He wasn’t sure what had come over him but he was feeling more bold tonight. It was probably the lingering power of that espresso cream. 

 

“Damn,” Joe tisked. “And here I thought I had a chance.”

 

Web’s stomach did a flip-flop and he couldn’t have smothered his smile if he’d tried. “Keep cooking like that and we’ll see.”

 

o0o0o0o

 

“ _Tesoro. Svegliati_.”

 

Web moaned and stretched, startling a little at how soft everything was. There was someone warm and solid pressed up against him and the pillow under his head felt like a cloud. He moaned again more shamelessly and sought out the strength in a half dream state, wanting more. A rough palm slid past his jaw and down his throat, thumbing over his pulse. More sweet Italian was murmured in his ear and he relaxed under the sure fingers. They tickled his ribs and traced the plump swell of his tummy. 

 

Web’s eyes fluttered open slowly to try and adjust to the morning. He couldn’t remember where he was or who’s bed he was in but that was surely Joe beside him. The man was propped up on his elbow with fresh sunlight pouring around his head like a halo. All his ink was on display from his bare chest down to his hip above the low elastic of his sweats. He looked comfortable, like there was no where else he’d rather be. Joe had a rare, sweet smile on his face and it had Web’s heart fluttered.

 

“David,” Joe whispered reverently. 

 

Web’s breath hitched as he leaned in and brushed their noses. “Joe...where are we?”

 

Joe pet across his stomach until he calmed down a little. “You were so tired, sweetheart. Imagine you don’t remember much at all.”

 

Web whined under his breath and turned on his side, pressing closer to Joe. The man hushed him gently and curled an arm around his waist. A chaste kiss was dropped into his hair. “We were filming in the tail end of Austria and flew to Croatia for about four days. You argued with a nice couple from Switzerland about how to pronounce Krk and Vrbnik. We got into a bar fight. And then right on a plane here. You hardly slept.”

 

“Wasn’t tired,” he muttered petulantly. 

 

“You can’t sleep on planes either, darling, or did you forget?” Joe teased lightly.

 

Web inhaled sharply and sat up urgently, head whipping around as he took in the ivory and gold and crimson of the room. It was elegant and polished and everything he’d hoped it would be. “Are we really there?”

 

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Joe flopped back into the plush bed. “We’re in Rome. I had to carry you in here after holding you under a hot shower, but we’re here.”

 

Web climbed onto him and straddled his waist with a wide smile. He cupped Joe’s face and dropped down for a slow kiss that lasted until their lips tingled. Even when he tried to pull back Joe merely tugged him back in with a hum.

 

“I’m glad I’m here with you,” Web confessed lowly, cock twitching between them as the man bit his lip. “Even if we had to go through a week long filming trip in bumfuck Croatia for unusuable film.”

 

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

 

“Lieb, it’s garbage. We spent most of it lost.”

 

“But what about that third night in the motel?” Joe offered. Web frowned at first but when he waggled his eyebrows he knew. He pinked up all the way down to his chest and smacked his shoulders.

 

“Joe!”

 

“What?” Joe cackled. “You looked damn good that night!”

 

Web sat up and covered his face. “I hate you.”

 

“I mean, you were blindfolded so you couldn’t see it and my face was buried in your ass for the good part of an hour, but what I _did_ see was fucking fantastic.”

 

“ _Joseph_!”

 

o0o

 

Web had wanted to fulfill all of his sexual bucket list in Rome and Joe had given it all to him on a silver platter. They had to extend the trip by a few days because they kept locking Malarkey out of their room and moaning obnoxiously until he’d give up and leave them to it.

 

“God, you’re fucking hot,” Joe huffed, brain still mush from coming three times in one night like he was twenty again. Web laughed into the pillow, sprawled on the ruined sheets. They were both sweaty, cum covered wrecks and they’d be sore for days. 

 

“I’m too old for this,” Web panted, hair curling wetly against his forehead. He yelped as Joe rolled on top of him and smacked his ass. “You fuck!”

 

“Ah shut it, you’re younger than me,” Joe chuckled, rubbing the sting away. He went quiet and Web squirmed underneath him with a grunt. Warm fingers brushed his throat and pressed down on something so tender-good it went right to his spent cock. He whimpered and squirmed again, weakly batting at him.

 

“Joe, _don’t_.”

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

“Sorta,” he slurred, hips grinding lazily against the bed. “Feels kinda’ fucking good.”

 

“It should, babe, it’s perfect,” Joe husked. Web shivered as the man covered him and kissed at the spot. “God damn. If I was ten years younger I’d fuck you all over again.” 

 

“Please don’t,” Web laughed, heart thudding as he kissed over the sore spot. “I think my ass is done for the rest of the week.”

  
  
“Please let me fuck you again as soon as my dick wakes up?” Joe begged shamelessly. “ _Please_ , David?”

 

Web perked up at that. “Christ, Joe, why? Didn’t you get enough?”

 

“You’re wearing my fucking _teeth_ in your skin.”

 

Web flushed all over. His dick twitched valiantly. “I...what?”

 

He choked as Joe’s mouth fit over the mark and his teeth slid perfectly in place. There were indents that fit so well he could barely feel more than pressure. He was marked, branded, just like that night with that stranger that had led him to Joe’s room. Except now it was the person he truly wanted who had bit him. He pawed at the sheets and pushed back into the bite. “Shit, Joe. You sure you can’t get it up right now?”

 

“If only, kitten.”

 

“Stop with the nicknames or _I’m_ going to fuck you!”

 

“Hey, I’m up for anything if you get hard again.”

 

“You’re an animal.”

 

“I’m not the one trying to breed the bed right now.”   
  


  
“Shut up!”

 

o0o

 

What was between them didn’t turn into a regular, sober, non-bucket-list occurrence until nine months in. But Web didn’t think anything of it, he didn’t let himself. How could he when this was his _job_? Risking it for some sort of affair was beyond stupid. He didn’t want this to get out of control, except it already was. 

 

“Did you bring the boyfriend?” Web heard one of the producers, Renee, ask Liebgott while he was walking up to them.

 

“Yeah, yeah, he’s right there,” Joe griped, snagging Web by the elbow and dragging him in front of her steely gaze. “See? Boyfriend secured. Goddamn, like I can’t be trusted on my own or somethin’.”

 

Later that night while Web was agonizing over a press kit and Joe was on his third beer and four episodes into Hoarders, he gathered up enough courage to ask the question that had been circling his mind since the lunch with Renee. “Were you joking earlier or what?”

 

“About what?” the chef asked, tilting his head back to try and look at him from over the couch.

 

“Me being…” Web tapped his fingers against the keyboard without pressing down. “You know.”

 

He could see the man’s brow furrow up. “Uh?”   
  


  
“ _Boyfriend_ ,” Web spat out the word like it was sharp. “You-” He scrubbed his hands over his face and felt the too-long rasp of his beard. “You called me your fucking _boyfriend_ , okay? What the fuck?”

 

Joe shifted around in the couch and hooked his chin over the back of it. His gaze wasn’t harsh, just questioning. “You don’t want anyone to know?”

 

That simple statement sent Web reeling.

 

“I mean,” Joe drawled thoughtfully. “It’s a little late for that. Everyone knows.”

 

That sent a strange, cold bolt straight to his gut. He wasn’t sure if it was shock or some kind of weird, possessive delight. Whatever it was it was making him sick. “Christ, Joe, what do they know?”

 

“Web,” Joe sighed patiently. “You _are_ my boyfriend. Partner. Whatever you want to call it. For like, what, couple months? Since you started?”

 

“I’m your _publicist_ ,” Web stressed, palms suddenly sweaty and heart hammering a warrior’s rhythm against his ribs. “We fuck around but-”

 

“David,” Joe cut off with much less patience, something dark flashing in his eyes. “If you want to break up or something-”

 

“We’re not even together!” The statement was ridiculous the second it left his mouth. It hit him all at once and his head swam. They did _everything_ together. They ate, slept, fucked, shared rooms, even spent a lot of their downtime together. He visited Joe’s restaurant every time he was in the city and Joe was always there demanding to fix every part of his meal. They texted one another at least once a day, Web harping on Joe’s gratuitous and sometimes spoilery Instagram and Joe sending him bullshit articles about how dangerous sharks were just to get him riled up. All the touching, the hugs, the cuddling, Joe’s arm always around his shoulder...

 

“Oh my God, you’re my boyfriend,” Web realized dumbly, staring blankly at the computer screen.

 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell ‘ya, sweetheart,” Joe drawled, flipping back around and kicking his foot up on the table. “Glad you made it to the party.”

 

“I have a boyfriend,” Web marveled.

 

“Yeah and if you get that press thing done he might even blow you.” Joe drained the dregs of his beer and pointedly raised the bottle up. “Better hurry, though. He’s getting pretty drunk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this fic was CRAZY good! HOly crap guys, I feel absolutely spoiled, and I'm not even sure if this chap lives up to your expectations (I wasn't sure I was going to write it at all) but I really hope you like it!


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